


Baby, Teach Me How To

by FallingLikeThis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Art Student Harry, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Hand Jobs, M/M, Model Liam, Model Zayn, Mutual Pining, Nude Modeling, Pining, Professor Louis, Semi-Public Sex, Student Niall, University Student Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8945812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingLikeThis/pseuds/FallingLikeThis
Summary: At 10 am, the door to the studio classroom shuts with a bang that makes Harry jolt in his seat at the sound of it. He turns to see an absolutely gorgeous man standing there, hand still on the doorknob. His hair falls in a windswept swoop over his brow and he’s got a sexy scruff on his cheeks that Harry immediately can’t help imagining between his thighs. The man’s eyes shine with mirth, lips quirked into a wicked grin at having gotten a reaction from nearly everyone in the room. Harry watches him with unfettered curiosity, idly thinking he’d be a beautiful subject for a portrait as the man’s hand falls from the door.

  “Hello, class,” he says, clapping his hands in front of him and Harry’s eyes have a hard time staying in his head.
 This is Professor Tomlinson? OrLouis is Harry's art professor and they both know it's forbidden to fall in love. Somehow, they manage to anyway.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Waterproofbabyvamp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waterproofbabyvamp/gifts).



> Waterproofbabyvamp, I sort of combined two of your prompts: Louis the teacher falls in love with harry the beautiful art student & Louis is taking an art class and Harry is the nude model. I hope you like it!!
> 
> A/n: I sort of fudged the class schedule thing from the RSID BFA degree requirements.  
> And when I say settee, [this](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/d9/c1/23/d9c1239c80fdb8521ed52292f345d50d.jpg) is what I am imagining.
> 
> Oh, also, the title is from the song "Helplessly" by Tatiana Manaois which everyone should seriously check out.

 

Harry feels jittery with a mixture of excitement and nerves as he walks into his Experiments in Drawing class. This is it, this is the class that will make or break him as an artist. Well, this is the class that he’ll do his degree project for and _that’s_ what will make or break him. He’s been both looking forward to and dreading this since his freshman year. Now, in his final year, he’s finally here. This is the class that Harry needs to excel at in order to get his Bachelor of Fine Arts Degree and it’s absolutely maddening. If he fails at this, there’s no second chance. And it certainly isn’t helpful that his professor is actually a working, professional artist himself.

Something struck a chord when Harry saw the name Louis Tomlinson on his class schedule. He realized that he’d heard the name before or read it somewhere and when he’d looked his professor up, he’d found several articles online about the man’s artwork in galleries in and around London. Harry had looked at everything he could get his hands on, swiftly falling in love with Tomlinson’s artwork. It’s spectacular and thought-provoking. Harry is absolutely enamored with the charcoal drawings from Tomlinson’s teenage years. There’s such a rawness to them that Harry can’t help feeling shows such vulnerability. It’s that authentic feel of real emotion that has made Harry such a fan of his work. It’s an inspiration, really. He strives to reach that same level of emotional honesty. He’s so excited about being able to learn from such an amazing artist and it’s a little difficult for him to keep his head as we takes a seat in the classroom.

The room is fairly empty, a giant open space with a scattering of easels and chairs taking up half the room but leaving an almost half-circle of empty space at the front where Harry imagines the professor will instruct from. There’s a large desk in one corner as well as a small table with a bowl of fruit sitting on it, well out of the way of the flow of creativity. And the whole eastern wall is made up of large windows that probably give a spectacular view of the sunrise, natural light flowing through the glass that makes the room glow a bit from the shine of the morning sun. Harry’s only been here for a grand total of one minute and already he absolutely loves it. If only his love for the space could calm some of the worries floating around in his head. What if Tomlinson isn’t impressed with him? What if Harry flunks out of the class? What if he’s spent all this time honing his craft just to find out that he’s not good enough?

Harry’s leg jiggles as he sits, waiting for class to begin. He’s a good ten minutes early and the wait is absolutely doing him no favors. He breathes a little easier when the first of his classmates trickles in. And then another, and another. At 10 am, the door to the studio classroom shuts with a bang that makes Harry jolt in his seat at the sound of it. He turns to see an absolutely gorgeous man standing there, hand still on the doorknob. His hair falls in a windswept swoop over his brow and he’s got a sexy scruff on his cheeks that Harry immediately can’t help imagining between his thighs. The man’s eyes shine with mirth, lips quirked into a wicked grin at having gotten a reaction from nearly everyone in the room. Harry watches him with unfettered curiosity, idly thinking he’d be a beautiful subject for a portrait as the man’s hand falls from the door.

“Hello, class,” he says, clapping his hands in front of him and Harry’s eyes have a hard time staying in his head.

 _This_ is Professor Tomlinson? He can’t be more than six years older than Harry – at most. Nowhere in any of the articles Harry had found on him, had any of them stated the man’s age or even decorated their pages with a photograph. And how the fuck is Harry supposed to pay attention to what his Professor is saying when he’s standing there looking like that, just so naturally stunning.

“So,” Tomlinson says, drawing Harry from his rambling thoughts. “First rule of my class, you’re on time or you’re on your own.” He looks around, apparently silently counting heads and nods to himself. “Looks like everyone’s managed to make it on time for the first day of class. That’s excellent because I’m not fond of repeating myself.”

Harry will definitely have to keep his wits about him in front of Tomlinson, then. He bites his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth. _God_ , _this is going to be difficult_ , he thinks as he struggles to keep his eyes from trailing over his professor’s body. He’s just so pretty and Harry can’t help imagining drawing him. Clothed or not. Okay, so he’s mostly imagining _not_. It’s a bit of a problem.

“I’m not trying to be a bastard about it,” Tomlinson continues, moving from his spot next to the door to stand in the center of the room where everyone can see him. “As artists, I’m sure we all know what it’s like to get into that groove where everything is flowing just right. It feels good, you’re on a creative streak that won’t quit. We’ve all been there, yeah?”

There’s a chorus of murmured “yeah’s” and head nodding, Harry included. He has certainly been there, that tunnel vision where he can only see what he’s working on, all concentration centered on what he’s creating, flying high with the feeling that it’s all going brilliantly.

“And we all know what it’s like when that groove is interrupted,” Tomlinson continues, nodding along when his students break into another, slightly more disgruntled response of agreement. “Yeah, so that’s why that door closes the second class begins, because I’m a big fan of not disrespecting the other artists working around you. So, if you get here, and that door is closed, you turn around and go home. You’re missing class for the day. _But,_ as a passing grade in this class is required to graduate, I’d strongly suggest trying to be on time.”

The Professor takes a breath, shoulders visibly relaxing like he’s just gotten through something unpleasant, and Harry’s brow furrows in contemplation at that. Perhaps the professor isn’t fond of giving speeches.

“Now, I suppose introductions are in order,” Tomlinson says, pacing the semicircle of empty space in front of all of his students. “My name is Louis Tomlinson. This is my first year teaching here at this fine establishment of learning and, as such, I’m not yet stodgy enough to expect to be graced with the title of ‘Professor’. I’m perfectly happy answering to Louis, or if you’re not comfortable with that, Mr. Tomlinson is fine.”

 _Yeah_ , Harry thinks, running a hand through his curls. _Not going to call him by his first name_. That level of familiarity will only allow the lines of teacher and student to blur in Harry’s mind. Especially when he’s so attracted to the man.

 

*~*

 

“Now, I’d ask for your names but, honestly, I’ll likely remember your art before I get your names so what do you say we get started with a little exercise?” Louis asks tucking his hands behind his back, trying to keep his students from seeing the minute trembles he’s enduring. He’s so fucking nervous. This isn’t like his life drawing class at the community center. This is a job at a respectable university. Louis is going to be responsible for the direction of these students’ futures. So many fresh, eager faces looking at him like he’s got something to offer them. He really hopes he proves worthy of teaching them. “We’re going to start out with the dreadful “bowl of fruit” still-life. But I don’t want you to just draw a boring picture of some fruit. Let’s make this fun. I want you to take that fruit and draw it in a creative way. You can come up with your own idea or steal ideas from other artist for inspiration if you want. If you like surrealism, for example, draw melted fruit. If you like pointillism, get creative with some dots. If you’re a fan of cubism, make yourself some cubed fruit. Not literally though, that’s my lunch over there.”

Louis actually wasn’t expecting that joke to get a reaction. It was honestly so bad. But he hears a quiet chuckle from one of the students up front. Louis seeks him out. It’s the curly one that Louis’ been trying very hard not to look at. One glimpse when Louis had first walked into the room told him that he was going to be in trouble with this one. He’s far too attractive for Louis’ sanity. And the fact that he’s laughed at Louis’ horrible joke is doing Louis absolutely no favors as he tries not to preen and has to force himself not to make another joke just so that he can hear that quiet laugh again.

“Alright, get out your things and prepare to get started!” Louis instructs, walking over to the small table he’s already set up with a bowl of fruit and dragging it to the center of the empty semi-circle. He arranges the fruit more artfully for the students to draw and steps back, the room already filling with the delightful skritching of pencil on paper as they set to work.

Louis sits on the edge of his desk in the corner to give them a few minutes to get started, biting into a purloined apple. He watches the students work as he chews, paying special attention to their faces as they follow his instructions. He can already tell which students are actually taking this exercise seriously and which one’s he’ll have to watch out for.

Curly has a look of intense concentration on his face as he glances at the fruit bowl before his eyes fall back to his paper. His bottom lip is tucked between his teeth and Louis forces himself to look away, not allowing his mind to go where it’s trying to after being assaulted with that image. He’s absolutely not allowed to be attracted to his students.

Bored and needing a serious redirect for his train of thought, Louis hops down from his desk and decides to start critiquing. He walks through the crowd of chairs and easels, bending to look over shoulders and quietly offer words of encouragement or sometimes a helpful suggestion. He avoids Curly until he’s looked at everyone else’s work, finally biting the bullet and walking up to peer over his shoulder at the sketchpad he’s working over in his lap. Louis can’t help the smile on his face when he sees Curly’s bowl of fruit. He’s turned an ordinary apple into the Apple computer logo, the grapes are now a very small man in costume reminiscent of the Fruit of the Loom commercial characters, and the orange is wearing a very silly face that Louis is sure he’s seen on the internet somewhere.

“Interesting choice,” Louis tells him quietly, smile growing when Curly turns to him. “It’s certainly not boring.”

“I’m not sure whether to interpret that as a good reaction or not,” the artist says, smiling back grimly.

“The last thing you want your art to do is put people to sleep, Curly,” Louis answers, feeling accomplished when the artist’s shoulders relax at his words, not even realizing that he’s let the nickname slip out. “It’s definitely good.”

“Thank you,” he tells Louis quietly, almost timidly, looking back down at his paper. And Louis’ grateful really because those brilliant green eyes boring into him were making his knees feel a bit wobbly.

Louis calls time a few minutes later, telling them it doesn’t matter if they’re finished or not. They spend the rest of class doing peer critiques and Louis thinks they’re enjoying themselves, getting feedback that’s both uplifting and informative. All in all, he considers his first day teaching at university a raging success. He lets them go with an assignment to work on for the next class, smiling to himself as they pack up and leave his room.

He’s moving the table with the bowl of fruit back to its corner next to his desk when a quiet “Excuse me, Mr. Tomlinson” has him spinning around to face none other than Curly. The boy stands there with a shy grin, holding out his fruit sketch for Louis to take.

“I put my name on it,” the boy says. “I figured if it was directly next to my art, it might help you remember.”

Louis squints down at the name scrawled in the corner of the page. “Harry?” He asks, looking back up to confirm that he’s interpreted the signature correctly.

“As opposed to ‘Curly’,” Harry smirks.

“Well, I’ll see you next class then, _Harry_ ,” Louis says hoping that Harry will take the hint and leave. Because Louis can absolutely deal with being attracted to a beautiful yet shy art student but he can’t deal with one that can turn into a cheeky little shit with the flip of a switch.

Harry does take the hint, departing with final grin and a cute little wave. “Until next time.”

Well, one thing is for sure. Louis certainly isn’t going to be forgetting Harry’s name any time soon.

 

*@*

Experiments in Drawing is swiftly becoming Harry’s favorite class. And it’s got absolutely nothing to do with the crush he’s harboring on his teacher. Each assignment Mr. Tomlinson gives them is creative and exciting. Harry knows what it’s like to get disillusioned with your work, to stop enjoying it as much as you used to. But with Mr. Tomlinson and his unexpected assignments, that’s not a problem. Harry loves the thrill of trying to come up with a concept for each sketch that no one else will think of, something to impress his teacher as well as himself.

“The lighting you’re creating on her face with the shading is wonderful, Harry,” the teacher’s quiet rasp is his ear has Harry grinning down at his page. “Be careful of your angles,” he warns, hand resting briefly on Harry’s shoulder before he’s moving on to check on Aurelia to Harry’s right.

Harry studies his sketch, searching for the flaw Mr. Tomlinson saw that he missed. And there it is, the shading under her right eye is all wrong, throwing off everything else. Harry grabs his kneaded eraser, pinching one corner to a fine point, and moves to fix the mistake. 

This challenge their teacher has given them consists of turning a garden variety Barbie doll into a work of art while still keeping her recognizable. Harry has decided to draw her as though she’s sitting for a portrait. It may not be as exciting and colorful as James’ Andy Warhol tribute or as thought provoking as Theresa’s deconstructed version of her, all her pieces pulled apart and lying in a heap on the page, but he’s proud of it.

“Alright, everyone! That’s time,” Mr. Tomlinson calls and Harry puts away his pencils and eraser, carrying his sketchpad over to the clothing line the teacher has strung up against one wall. Like everyone else, he pins up his drawing and steps back from it, waiting anxiously to hear what his peers think of his work.

 

*~*

 

Louis knows his students thought he was a bit daft when he pulled a Barbie out of his desk and told them that she was their subject for the day. A few scoffed at the idea, and it’s clear in their work that they never warmed to it. But being technically excellent isn’t the purpose of this class, Louis needs his students to show how creative they can be. That said, Louis is rather impressed with the ones who embraced the assignment. Particularly Theresa and Harry whose work could not be on more opposite ends of the spectrum. While Theresa has broken the doll apart and made her sketch a symbol of something much deeper than a pile of toy parts, Harry has made the doll seem almost lifelike without actually taking anything away from her. Her limbs are still stiff, smile still painted on, but Harry’s given life to something that is, in fact, lifeless. Louis doesn’t know how he’s done it, can’t pinpoint any one thing that makes her seem so real, so _human_. He certainly wouldn’t have been able to do what Harry has done.

It’s rather clear to Louis that he’s not the greatest at being unbiased. He knows he’s not supposed to have favorite students but he undeniably does. He hopes it doesn’t show in class but, in just a few weeks, he’s grown rather fond of a few of them. And try as he might to ignore it, Harry is without a doubt at the top of his list. So, when it’s Harry’s turn to be critiqued, Louis has to bite his tongue to keep from gushing about the drawing and in that moment he knows, this is getting seriously out of hand.

Before class ends, Louis gives them their first big assignment, worth 20% of their grade.

“You knew this was coming. It was in the syllabus you were emailed before classes started. But if it helps, there’s no class on Thursday because I have an appointment so you’ll have a full week to get this one done,” Louis assures them when he hears some groaning from the back of the class. “What I want you to do is draw a self-portrait but I want you to do it as if seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes.”

“How’re we supposed to do that?” He hears Tristan grumble from behind the safety of one of the easels.

Louis shrugs, “I guess you’ll just have to get creative, Tristan. For once.”

The student in question scowls at the dig but Louis’ attention is elsewhere, caught on the smirk Harry wears as he fights a laugh.

Oh yeah, _way_ out of hand.

 

*@*

 

Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself during the time he should be in class on Thursday. He’s going through cute teacher withdrawal, he thinks, as he sulks in his bed.

He should probably be working on his self-portrait but he hasn’t quite figured out how to do it. He’s lucky they have the extra time to finish it, otherwise he’s sure he would have failed the assignment. The thing is, every time he tries to figure out how to draw himself through someone else’s eyes, he gets stuck on the who. _Whose_ eyes is he looking at himself through? And then he starts wondering how the people around him see him, and that inevitably leads to ‘how does _Louis_ see him’? And would whatever he sees be different if they’d met under different circumstances. Would Harry have acted on his crush if they’d met at, let’s say, a coffee shop? Would Louis have reciprocated? In Harry’s fantasies, he does. So, Harry trying to do this assignment just ends up being an endless loop of useless wishful thinking instead of anything productive.

And yes, okay? _Yes_ , he’s broken his own rule and started calling his teacher by his first name in his head. But to be fair, that line between teacher and student sort of ceased to exist the moment he saw his teacher. Already imagining Louis’ scruff rubbing against the inside of his thighs seconds after laying eyes on the man. And Harry’s just never been able to conjure up a new one.

Harry stares up at his ceiling and rubs his hands over his face with exasperation. He feels like a fucking teenager again. He’d crushed on one of his teachers then too but he doesn’t remember it being this bad. Of course, Louis’ much prettier than Ms. Flack ever was. And funny. God, Harry finds the man hilarious. Not to mention the way he just seems so full of life.

Okay, Harry’s seriously got to get a hold of himself. This is getting ridiculous. He twists as he sits up, legs falling over the side of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor. This is not the time to have his head in the clouds. He rises, walking over to his desk where his sketchpad rests and grabs his art supplies, flipping to a blank page and settling down in his desk chair to get to work. But try as he might, Harry’s got nothing as far as ideas go. He’s still struggling on that front.

Sighing, he tosses his pencil down on the desk and leans back in his chair. He’s so frustrated with himself. He runs his fingers through his hair as he thinks and his eyes catch on the picture he’s got in a frame on his desk. In it a much smaller Harry sits on an old sofa, staring adoringly at his mother who sits next to him. He loves that picture. He knows exactly what he was thinking in that moment, that his mum was his hero.

His hand moves without thought to pick up his pencil and he starts drawing _her_ the way he saw her in that moment. The way he still sees her. On impulse he gives her a mask and cape, completing the transformation to hero as he chuckles at himself. If only his self-portrait were this easy.

But maybe it can be. Harry stares at the picture of himself and his mother, an idea finally taking form. If there’s anyone that Harry knows without absolute certainty how they see him, it’s his mum. He’ll draw himself through her eyes.

 

*@*

 

When Thursday comes, Harry is ready for it. He’d finished his self-portrait last night and he’s really proud of it. He’d started with an outline of himself as he is now, hair long and curly, eyes bright but mostly serious, jawline straight and sculpted. But what really stands out is the younger Harry he’d drawn with darker, thicker lines inside the contours of his face. His hair was straight then –not long enough for curls yet, face rounded and wearing a wide, happy smile, eyes shining with a childlike mirth as his little hands rest sweetly beneath his chin. Because that’s how his mother will always see him –as her little boy– no matter how old he gets.

He carries his sketchpad to class, excited to hand in his assignment. But halfway there, everything goes horribly, horribly wrong. His sketchpad is knocked from his hands by an overzealous dog that must have gotten away from someone and Harry is knocked down with it. He can see it as it happens, the sketchpad flying open as it sails from his hands, pages fluttering in the wind from the drop and then it’s landing, face-down in the mud from last night’s rains. Even as the mud seeps through the fabric of his jeans, Harry can feel nothing except panic for his drawing.

“No, no, no,” He mutters crawling over to his ravaged sketchpad as quickly as humanly possible, heart thundering in his chest. “Please be okay,” he prays as he picks it up and flips it over.

It’s not okay. It could have been any of his drawings, but it is, in fact, his self-portrait that’s ruined.

“Shit,” he closes his eyes, icy dread pooling in his stomach. Maybe Louis will let him do it over. The syllabus says that Louis won’t accept late assignments but since Harry actually did it, maybe he’ll make an exception just this once. From looking at the ruined drawing, you can at least tell that he tried to do _something_. His throat goes tight just looking at the muddied page.

“I’m so sorry,” someone says, reaching out a hand to help Harry up, disregarding the fact that he’s absolutely _covered_ in mud.

“It’s alright,” Harry says with no feeling at all as he lets the man help him stand. He can’t blame anyone for this, it was just an unfortunate accident. He just hopes Louis will see that too and give Harry another chance.

“Loki’s not usually like this when I walk him, but I was late this morning,” the man tries to explain but Harry’s having a hard time forcing himself to listen. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, thank you,” Harry answers on autopilot.

“I’ll pay for your cleaning,” the guy suggests when Harry seems to come back to himself. The man’s earlier words finally filtering through to his brain.

The millisecond the word “late” finally reaches Harry, he glances down at his watch. 9:55 a.m.. Holy shit. He’s going to have to run.

“It’s fine,” Harry calls, taking off and leaving the man and his dog looking after him.

Harry’s breathing heavily when he reaches the Arts building but he doesn’t slow down until he reaches the lift. He rushes in and presses the button for the third floor, trying to catch his breath as he waits impatiently to reach his floor. But the second the lift opens, Harry knows he’s doomed.

The door to Experiments in Drawing looms just ahead of him. And it’s closed.

Harry’s shoulders droop as he admits defeat, stepping out of the lift and taking the few steps to the door that stands between him and his degree. He lets his back hit the wall across the hallway, sliding down to sit on the floor as he drops his sketchpad and rests his head in his hands. _“Fuck.”_

*~*

 

Louis is worried. 10 a.m. came and went and Harry didn’t show up for class. It doesn’t seem like him to miss such an important assignment. Louis’ always been able to see the passion Harry has for his drawing, the thought that he could be so careless about this assignment doesn’t feel like even a remote possibility. Hence, the worry. Something must be wrong.

He tries to focus on the students who did show up as he walks them through a new exercise. Their self-portraits aren’t being critiqued by the class as a whole. Louis is the only one laying eyes on them, so they’re piled on his desk in the corner. He can see that some of the students keep glancing over there, like they just want to get the grading part over with. Louis can sympathize. But mostly, he’s hoping their distraction will keep them from realizing that he’s distracted too, eyes trailing to the closed door of the room every few minutes like he expects someone to come racing in. He doesn’t think Harry would break his rules like that, but right now, Louis almost wishes he would.

He can breathe a little easier when the students are working on their assignment and he doesn’t have to divide his attention between them and the one student he wishes were here but isn’t. He walks around watching them work and occasionally giving a critique or two, forcing himself not to stare at the door even though he desperately wants to.

This is insane. He’s turning into an absolute mess over a student. A gorgeous, charming, talented student, but a student nonetheless.

He runs his hands through his hair, no doubt making a mess of it, and checks in on Theresa’s drawing. It’s brilliant, as usual. He gives her an encouraging grin and moves on. As he moves over to Aurelia he chances a glance at the clock and bites down on his lip to suppress a groan. 10:24 a.m. This is going to be the longest class in history.

 

*~*

 

Harry sits out in the hallway for the entirety of class, dread and hope waging a war in his stomach. He’s not sure what to expect when that door opens and he has to go in and tell Louis what happened.

About five minutes before class is supposed to end, Tristan shows up.

“You missed, too?” He asks and Harry’s too nice to point out that he wouldn’t be sitting out here if he hadn’t.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

“You look like someone dragged you to hell and back,” Tristan observes, gesturing to Harry’s coat, jeans, and boots that are covered in mud.

Harry laughs ruefully, looking down at himself, too. “Yeah, that’s why I’m late. Next trip, I’m taking the train.”

Tristan chuckles at the joke and Harry can admit that it feels good to be able to joke about it. It eases his nerves a little. Even if the person he’s joking with isn’t exactly his favorite person.

“Did you do the assignment?” Tristan asks next and since his hands are empty, Harry thinks he can guess whether or not Tristan did it.

“I did, actually. I just didn’t make it to class on time,” Harry tells him. He doesn’t mentioned that his drawing is ruined. Honestly, he doesn’t even want to think about it. He’s been keeping himself from staring at his sketchpad in dismay the entire time he’s been sitting here. This assignment had become really personal to him once he’d figured out how to do it. And now…, well, it’s almost like a little piece of himself has been destroyed.

“Bummer,” Tristan offers wryly. “And you just know Tomlinson’s going to be a little bitch about it.”

“That’s offensive,” Harry says glaring up at Tristan. “And you shouldn’t talk about him that way.”

Tristan snorts and rolls his eyes. “Serves me right for trying to commiserate with the teacher’s pet, I guess.”

“Serves you right for being a dick, you mean,” Harry returns with an arched brow, pulling himself to his feet just as the classroom door opens.

Tristan shakes his head but doesn’t say anything else as they wait for the stream of exiting students to subside. And then he ducks into the room before Harry can, making him wait while Tristan tries to get himself an extension.

“Hey, Harry,” Theresa greets, a look of concern on her face. “My goodness, what happened to you?”

“Long story,” Harry says, glancing over her shoulder at the sight of Tristan arguing with Louis.

“Looks like it,” Theresa says, turning her head to look into the room as well before turning back to Harry. “It’s obvious something happened to you. I’m sure Mr. T will help you however he can.”

“I don’t know,” Harry shakes his head, showing her his sketchpad. “My self-portrait was ruined, too. I don’t know what he’s going to think. Maybe I just look like someone who gets really detailed about making excuses.”

“Seriously?” Theresa laughs. “He’s not going to think that you covered yourself in mud just to get out of the assignment. Now, if it was Tristan, maybe. But he knows how much your art means to you, Harry.”

“I hope so,” Harry says, biting his lip when Tristan storms out of the room and pushes past them in a huff. “Because it looks like it’s my turn to go in there.”

The nerves in his belly are back full force and Harry can’t honestly say that they’re all about his doomed assignment. Some of them are jumpy little twitches at the thought of being alone with Louis even just for a few minutes.

“Good luck,” Theresa tells him, patting him on the shoulder as she steps around him and leaves him to his fate.

 

*~*

 

Louis is still fuming from Tristan coming into his class room and daring to suggest that Louis give him an extension when he’s done nothing to deserve one. He hadn’t given Louis any good reason for missing class or not having his assignment on time, just a string of mediocre ones and a complaint that Louis should have made the assignment more clear-cut.

He’s taking deep breaths and trying to calm down when someone knocks lightly on the doorjamb and his breath leaves him entirely. Because there, in his doorway, stands Harry. He’s covered in mud and looking tense as hell but he’s still a sight for Louis’ sore eyes.

“Hi, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry says hesitantly, and it’s like a punch in the chest Harry calling him that. It’s what he’s always called him but after a week apart, it’s a fresh reminder of the illicitness of Louis’ feelings of immediate attraction (despite the mud, Harry still looks beyond beautiful) and sweet, sweet relief at the sight of him.

“Hello, Harry,” Louis returns his greeting, eyes raking in his outfit a second time, catching on the sketchpad that looks just as torn up and messy as the rest of him. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Harry looks utterly startled by the question, freezing in place in the midst of stepping into the room.

Louis simply gestures to his ruined clothing and Harry looks down at himself, shoulders relaxing a second later as he realizes that Louis’ talking about how he looks. It’s enough to make a person wonder what he _thought_ Louis was talking about but Louis ignores that notion because maybe Harry’s just nervous about the state of his grade after missing class and failing to hand in the work Louis had assigned on time.

“Oh. You’re actually the first person to ask me that,” Harry says, seemingly taking in his chaotic appearance for the first time. The dirt on his coat dry and occasionally flaking onto the floor by now. “I knew it was bad but I was more worried about my assignment than what I looked like.”

“So, _are you_?” Louis repeats, reminding Harry that there was a question there that wasn’t answered. “Okay?”

“I’m fine,” Harry tells him with a tiny grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thank you for asking.”

“Okay,” Louis says, breathing a laugh. “Well, considering your appearance, I’m expecting a good excuse for missing today’s class.”

“Um, I was actually sort of attacked by a dog on the way to class,” Harry answers, shoulders hunched again and he must realize the way that sounds from the way Louis’ eyes widen with worry because a second later he’s backtracking. “Not _attacked_ like with growling and teeth or anything. Just, like, knocked over? And it wouldn’t have been so bad if it was just me, but he got my sketches too. Including my self-portrait.”

Harry holds out his drawings, already open to a specific page, and Louis’ stomach drops as he takes it. There’s mud smeared all across the page, obvious water damage and though Louis can tell there was something there before all he can really make out is one chubby, little childlike hand curled into a fist. Louis doesn’t know if he’s more heartbroken that he’ll never see the drawing underneath all of that mud, or the fact that despite his circumstances, Louis won’t be able to give Harry full credit for the assignment. He probably could have quietly made an exception if it weren’t for Tristan asking for an extension as well.

“I know I didn’t have an emergency or anything but I _really_ need to pass this class with a good grade. Please, Mr. Tomlinson, is there anything I can do to make up for this?” Harry asks with a hint of desperation in his voice and a plea in his eyes and Louis’ brain sort of short-circuits.

“I’m sorry?” He asks, voice going high at the implication of what Harry is asking.

“Whatever you ask, I’ll find a way to do it for you,” Harry continues, unaware of the slight heart attack Louis is currently having. “Please, Mr. Tomlinson. I need this.”

Louis shakes his head to clear the flood of dirty images that are going through it. He won’t trade sex for a good grade. And he honestly wouldn’t have thought Harry was the type to give up so easily on himself when he’s got so much talent. He turns his back on Harry, if only to get his heart under control, and walks over to put Harry’s sketchpad down on his desk.

“What, exactly, are we talking about here, Harry?” Louis asks, voice remarkably calm, slightly steely, and not the slightest bit shaky as he turns back around, arms crossed over his chest.

Harry looks at him likes he’s not entirely sure himself. “Um, extra credit?” Harry asks, an expression of bewilderment on his face at Louis’ sudden change in attitude.

Louis merely raises a brow at him and continues to stare.

“Wh–” Harry starts to ask but then his eyes bug out as his words catch up to his brain. “ _Oh._ No! I’m not…” Harry immediately protests, holding out a hand as though to stop Louis’ assumptions where they are. “ _God_ , I’m not propositioning you, I swear. I wouldn’t!” And then he seems to think that maybe he’s insulted Louis by saying that and he squeezes his eyes shut for a second. “Not that _I wouldn’t_ , you know, with you. Because you’re absolutely gorg– But, I’m not… Oh my god. Can the ground just open up and swallow me right now?”

By the end of Harry’s outburst, Louis’ got a hand over his mouth to hide the smile on his face and he’s feeling a lot better about his bumbling favorite student.

Harry takes a deep breath and gazes at Louis with an apparently renewed determination. “I was just wondering if there’s the possibility of extra credit assignments to make up for missing this one.”

Louis admires how quickly Harry’s recovered from the whole misunderstanding of a moment ago. He’s got perseverance, this one, and Louis finds that incredibly appealing. Not that he’d admit that to anyone but himself.

“Look, it’s obvious to me that you did the assignment so if you can re-do it and hand it in next class, I can give you partial credit,” Louis tells the young man standing before him.

“Thank you,” Harry breathes, obviously relieved to not be getting a zero on such an important benchmark grade.

“It won’t be enough for an ‘A’,” Louis warns him and Harry’s already nodding his head, accepting Louis’ terms with grace. “The best I can give you is a ‘B’. But if you want to make up the difference, I can give you the same option for extra credit I gave Tristan.”

“Yeah, anything,” Harry agrees readily.

“You should probably be more careful with your words, Curly,” Louis teases him, falling back on his old nickname for Harry and delighting in the way it makes him blush.

“I mean, what’s the assignment?” Harry corrects himself, running his hand through his hair probably in an effort to appear unruffled but failing. Louis still really wishes he wouldn’t do that. It’s undeniably sexy and Louis can’t handle that right now but he really only has himself to blame he supposes.

Louis clears his throat, “There’s a life drawing class that I teach at the community center on the weekends. I’ll waive the fee since this is an assignment and you’ll get extra credit for each class that you show up to. There are evening classes at six on Saturdays and morning classes at nine on Sundays. You only have to go to one each weekend.”

“I’ll be there,” Harry promises very seriously. “Thank you again, Mr. Tomlinson.”

“You’re very welcome, Harry,” Louis answers just as sincerely, “I know you do good work and that’s why I don’t mind giving you both of these opportunities to make up your grade.”

“Like, can I hug you?” Harry asks, fighting a smile. “I feel like this is a hug moment but I don’t know it if might be inappropriate.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s frowned upon, Curly,” Louis tells him reaching back onto his desk to pick up Harry’s mud-covered drawings and offer them back to him. “But I’m hugging you in spirit.”

Harry grins as he takes back his sketchpad. “I guess I’ll see you in class this weekend then,” he says walking to the door and, with one last glance over his shoulder, vanishes down the hallway.

Louis slumps down on the edge of his desk, biting his lip and cursing himself, yet again, for getting a crush on a student.

 

*@*

 

 

 

 

Harry is actually really excited about the life drawing class. For reasons _other_ than the far too attractive man that will be teaching it. He’s looking forward to capturing the complexities of the human body on his paper canvas. He’s drawn models before. Form drawing was one of his earlier classes at university but that’s just the thing, it was a _formal_ _class_. But here, there is no correct or incorrect way to draw. There’s only what feels right under his fingertips, what feels true against the page. Sure, Louis will be giving tips, but it’s not imperative that everything is perfect here. Here, the beauty is in the imperfections.

Harry smiles and waves to Louis when he walks into the class on Sunday morning and takes a spare easel near the back of the room. The class has been in session for a few weeks now so everyone has already picked out their spots and Harry is forced to make due with what’s left.  It’s not too bad, he’s got plenty of light and he’s able to see the settee set up in the center of the room fairly clearly. His only complaint would be the distance from his subject but given he’s not paying for this like everyone else is, he doesn’t really have room to make complaints.

“Good morning, class,” Louis greets them all when the time finally rolls around to nine o’clock. “Most of you know by now how this goes. Our model will come out, disrobe, and strike a pose for fifteen minutes. You capture what you can in that amount of time. Then, he’ll pick a different pose and so on. So, just do your best and if you’re not having fun, you’re doing something wrong.”

Louis turns to a dressing screen tucked over in the far corner of the room from where Harry’s easel is. “Liam,” he calls. “Whenever you’re ready.”

A nice-looking bloke steps out from behind the screen in a thin, blue dressing gown that shows off his powerful physique.  He’s got strong shoulders and looks like he definitely works out from what Harry can tell. For some reason he looks vaguely familiar to Harry and his fingers itch to grab a pencil, or maybe some charcoal, as Liam walks over to the settee, untying the belt of the dressing gown as he moves. He drops the covering on the floor at the edge of the settee and settles down on it, lying back and spreading out his frame in an alluring pose. He props himself up on one elbow, head resting in his hand, body tilted on its side to face the artists.

It takes Harry a few seconds to realize that everyone else has started working, only the sounds of charcoal and graphite on the textured paper pulling him from his study of Liam’s body. He picks up a piece of charcoal and starts outlining Liam’s torso. Glancing up every few seconds to make sure he’s got the lines right.

Louis walks around, much like in class and gives tips, often soothing frazzled nerves with his charming smile and patient demeanor. Harry finds himself giving Louis just as much of his attention as he’s giving his drawing. Louis stops at the girl working next to Harry and he can hear him saying something about negative space as Harry tries really hard to look like he’s concentrating on his own work as Louis steps closer to him.

“Don’t look too hard, Harry,” Louis says teasingly, turning his attention to the model for a second as he continues, “Don’t want to give Liam a bigger head than he already has.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Liam jokes back from his posed position and Louis’ only response is to show him his middle finger.

Harry only manages to blush and fumble his charcoal, messing up his drawing altogether.

“Sorry, Curly,” Louis apologizes quietly, resting his hand on the small of Harry’s back just long enough to cause his breath to catch before he’s moving away again.

Harry closes his eyes to get a grip on himself and when he opens them again Liam is in a new position. Harry rips the ruined drawing away and starts a new one.

 

*@*

 

Louis doesn’t know why he thought it was a good idea to invite Harry to his life drawing class for extra credit. He really should have come up with something else for this particular student because seeing him come in on Sundays with his hair up in a messy bun, looking more sleep-rumpled and comfy in ratty t-shirts and jeans with holes ripped in the knees than he ever allows himself to be in Louis’ uni class is absolute torture. And seeing his eyes trail over Liam’s naked body each class certainly isn’t helping. Rationally, Louis knows he’s looking at Liam with a critical eye. Figuring out how to map out his body on paper. But Louis has always been a bit jealous when it came to people he was interested in and Harry’s eyes on Liam’s body is bringing all those ugly feelings to the surface. He really needs to get a grip on this.

Harry walks in on another lazy Sunday with a smile for Louis. Always a smile for Louis. He walks to his easel in the back corner and strikes up a conversation with Malia, the girl who works next to him. He can see her grinning at Harry as she plays with her hair. He sincerely can’t blame her for flirting. He would, if he could. Louis sighs to himself and turns away from the two of them.

Liam hasn’t arrived yet and it’s starting to worry Louis. They have five minutes until class starts and he has no model. He pulls out his phone and checks it for messages but there are none so he brings up Liam’s number and presses send, raising the phone to his ear.

“Louis,” Liam answers breathlessly and Louis immediately starts to panic.

“What’s going on, Li? Are you alright?”

Liam laughs. He fucking _laughs_ while Louis’ standing here in a classroom full of people having a heart attack because he thought his friend was in danger somehow.

“I’m fine, Lou,” Liam says, the tone of his voice clearly indicating a smile on his face. “I’m just a bit late so I was running.”

Louis takes a deep breath and silently urges his thundering heart to calm the fuck down. _Why_ are the people in his life constantly trying to kill him?

 

*~*

 

Harry had watched Louis from the corner of his eye with growing concern as he chatted with Malia until Louis took what looked like a sigh of relief and put away his phone. Seeing his teacher’s shoulders slacken with relief has Harry exhaling his release of anxiety as he relaxes back into comfortable conversation with Malia.

Malia hasn’t seemed to notice anything, her eyes staying on Harry’s face as she laughs at one of his terrible jokes. He can tell that she’s attracted to him and he’s doing everything in his power to give off friendly vibes without being _too_ friendly.  He doesn’t think it’s working. He doesn’t want to lead Malia on. She’s perfectly lovely but Harry’s really only had eyes for one person since his last semester of uni started and as unfortunate as it is that he’s Harry’s teacher, he sort of loves the feeling he gets when Louis is close to him. The fluttering in his belly when Louis compliments his work, the warmth on his cheeks when Louis teases him. He knows it’s stupid to fall for your professor but Harry’s gone and done it anyway. It might not have gotten this far if he hadn’t started coming to the life drawing class because here he’s seen another side to Louis.

At school, Louis is always holding a bit of himself back from his students, keeping parts of himself hidden in an effort to remain professional but here, every extraordinary facet of his personality is allowed to shine through. Sometimes Harry likes to just sit and admire what he’s like. Here, he makes dirty jokes with Liam. Here, he encourages his students in ways he’s not allowed to at the University. Once, he’d made a game out of the entire class, offering the student who he could tell had the most fun with their drawing an oversized candy bar. It was only for a single pose so it didn’t feel like a waste of the class that most of these people paid for, and they all love Louis for both helping them learn and making sure they have a good time while they’re doing it. It’s a hard line to walk for some but Louis’ so full of life and sunshine that it just comes naturally to him. If Harry hadn’t seen these parts of the man he was already attracted to, he wouldn’t be in nearly as much trouble as he is.

Thankfully, Liam comes rushing into the room, ending the mostly one-sided conversation with Malia and putting a stopper in Harry’s forbidden thoughts about his teacher.

Harry moves closer to his easel, already picking up his charcoal, and class begins.

 

*~*

 

Louis walks over to Martin’s easel and has to bite back a sigh. Martin tries really hard, he does. Seriously, A+ for effort. But the man also happens to be his own worst critic. Louis thinks a lot of amazing artists have suffered the same affliction, he knows _he_ has bouts of self-doubt at times. But Martin takes the crisis of confidence to new levels. Louis would probably give him an A for technique too if the man would let himself actually finish a sketch. He’s actually taken to keeping a trash bin next to his work station. And it’s already full, hallway through the class. Martin is getting his money’s worth out of the class in paper alone.

“Martin,” Louis addresses the man, putting his hand over Martin’s just before he can scribble through yet another outline of Liam’s body. It’s excellent, in perfect proportion. The only flaw is a stray smear of charcoal covering one of Liam’s thighs. “It’s okay to make mistakes.”

Martin snorts. “Obviously,” he says, gesturing to his pile of rejects in the bin.

“No, that’s not what I-,” Louis cuts himself off, deciding to take a different approach. “I mean, sometimes mistakes,” he says, reaching over and pressing on the smear with his thumb, rounding it out a bit, making it just a little longer, a little lighter, “turn out to be exactly what you needed.”

When he pulls back his hand, there’s a shadow left behind where one of Liam’s legs overlaps the other, giving the drawing just a hint of dimension.

Martin stares at the shadow like he can’t believe he didn’t think to do that. Louis pats him on the shoulder.

“Embrace the flaws, Martin. Turn them to your advantage,” Louis instructs, leaving the man to work out his next move with the sketch and feeling more pride than is probably typical when Martin doesn’t rip the page away and add it to his trash pile.

Louis looks around to see if anyone else needs help and catches Harry watching him. When Louis meets his gaze, Harry doesn’t look away. He just smiles softly at Louis, eyes full of admiration and Louis’ chest feels tight. Louis breaks eye contact first, ducking his head under Harry’s watchful gaze and when he looks back up, Harry’s concentrated on his sketch again.

Louis resumes walking around, stopping to compliment another student while he tries to give Martin a little more time with his current work since he’s yet to give up on it. It’s a gamble because the longer he gives the man, the more chances he has to make another mistake that’ll have him tossing the page in the trash but Louis thinks he deserves the benefit of the doubt.

After a couple more minutes of Liam holding the pose, Louis calls for a break, giving his model a chance to relax for a little while. He moves over to the settee, handing Liam his dressing robe so that he can go out into the hallway and call his girlfriend like he always does. You’d think they didn’t already live together what with Liam calling her every single break.

Louis takes a seat on the edge of the settee, pulling his phone out to check his email for messages while his students chat to each other. There’s one from Aurelia saying she won’t be in class on Tuesday. He hits reply to inform her that he’ll send her a snapshot of their subject for the day on Tuesday and she can bring it in for the next class but before he can type anything out, a shadow falls over him.

“I thought it was really cool, what you did for Martin. Helping him to see that not all flaws need to be erased,” Harry says looming over Louis. And, really, Louis’ absolutely got a _thing_ for how tall Harry is, but right now it feels just a bit intimidating.

Louis rises from the settee, closing out his email and tucking the phone into his pocket. He feels a lot more comfortable now that he’s at eyelevel with Harry. He shrugs, feeling uncharacteristically shy at the compliment after the look Harry was giving him earlier. “He was just too focused on completing the task perfectly to see all of the possibilities he could do with it if he took a step back and really _looked_.”

“I think that’s true for a lot of things,” Harry says eyes intent on Louis’ face. “Sometimes we all need to take a step back and _really_ look at what’s there.”

Louis feels a shiver down his back at Harry’s words and the tone they carry, the light in Harry’s eyes that seems to be shining directly on him. He licks his lips nervously and doesn’t miss the way Harry’s eyes follow the movement. God, he’s going to do something unforgivable if he lets this conversation continue down this road. He tears his gaze away from Harry’s face, looking down at his hands. “I guess, with us both being artists, that’s something we can agree on,” Louis swerves, deliberately sounding like he doesn’t understand what Harry is implying.

“Yeah,” Harry bites his lip with a nod and Louis wants to die at the disappointment on his face. If only Harry wasn’t his fucking student. In just a few months he won’t be anymore but Louis doesn’t think he can admit his feelings and then ask for them to wait to be together. It doesn’t seem fair. To either of them. That is, assuming Louis’ not just reading this all wrong. That’s almost worse than having mutual feelings for someone who’s currently untouchable. If it’s all actually one-sided and Louis is just making up the feelings Harry has for him, then Louis gives up on this adulting thing because he obviously sucks at it.

“Well, I think Liam’s coming back,” Louis begins as the model appears in the doorway once again.

“Oh,” Harry acknowledges, glancing up at Liam’s entrance. “Yeah, I just wanted to let you know that I can’t come to Sunday classes anymore. One of my co-workers at the bakery is on Maternity leave and I’ll be working Sundays to cover for her from now on.”

“Oh.” Apparently, it’s Louis’ turn to be disappointed. “Are you quitting the class?” It’ll serve him right if Harry does.

 

*~*

 

God, is it possible to love and hate someone so much in the same moment? Harry’s not stupid. He knows Louis’ just shot him down without trying to look like he was shooting Harry down. ‘Letting him down gently’, he assumes. But now, Louis’ looking at him with those expressive, blue eyes that are so striking and hopeful. They seem to be silently entreating Harry to stay.

Everything Harry’s said is absolutely true, he does have to miss the Sunday classes for work. It’s not just an excuse to get away from Louis because he’s been rejected, though it’s sort of hard not to feel that way just a little bit right now.  Honestly, he doesn’t _want_ to drop out of the class. He loves it and he loves the extra time with Louis but he’s beginning to see how it’s starting to become a problem. Sundays are currently his favorite day of the week. And it’s one hundred percent because of his teacher. A little distance might be good for him.

“I, uh–”

“There are still a couple of open spots in the Saturday evening class,” Louis says fingers on both hands flexing like maybe he wants to reach out and physically keep Harry from walking away. Of course, he can’t and the constant reminder is starting to foster an ache in Harry’s heart.

“What are we talking about?” Liam butts in when he arrives next to them, pulling his robe in around him as though he can feel a chill in the air. Maybe he can but Harry, personally, is burning up. Or maybe that’s just his heart set aflame, burning to ash as it’s torn into two indecisive pieces.

“Harry was just telling me that he’s quitting the class because you’re a terrible model, Liam,” Louis says flippantly and Harry wonders how he can switch between emotions so easily.

“What-” Liam squawks.

“I never said that,” Harry assures him before he can get out a full protest.

“Don’t lie, Harry,” Louis, smacks his arm lightly, a playful smirk on his face that refuses to let Harry wallow in his earlier rejection.

He bites down on an answering grin. How does Louis _do_ that to him?

“He said you don’t know your angles,” Louis tells Liam and instead of it feeling like Louis’ throwing Harry under the bus to make himself feel better, it feels very much like a prank they’re in on _together._ “Also, you’re just not pretty enough.”

Liam scoffs, “Okay, now I know you’re lying. Because I am stunning,” Liam says, dropping his robe and flouncing delicately down onto the settee in a pose that’s undoubtedly meant to be sexy but just makes Harry laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

“Oh my god,” Harry says through a laugh as he turns around without another word and heads back to his easel.

Louis makes Liam hold the pose for another fifteen minutes much to Liam’s chagrin and the delight of the entire rest of the class. Harry smiles the whole time he’s sketching, almost able to forget the unpleasantness he’d caused during the break.

When Louis comes over to check on his drawing, he’s smiling too. “If you want to join the Saturday class, it starts at six in the evening,” Louis reminds him quietly. “If you don’t, you’ll be missed around here. Just think about it and… do whatever you want, Curly.”

Harry watches Louis’ back as he walks back the way he came, ‘ _whatever you want’_ ringing in his ears.

 

*@*

 

Experiments in Drawing on Tuesday goes about as well as Louis expected after watching Harry walk out of his life drawing class on Sunday. Harry’s slightly withdrawn concentrating on his assignment with an impenetrable focus. He doesn’t even look up when Louis comments on his work and it’s got Louis’ heart falling to his stomach.

Thursday is much the same, with Harry only sparing him a brief smile that doesn’t reach his eyes when he enters class.

So, it’s a bit of a surprise when Harry walks into Louis’ Saturday evening class at the community center.

Louis must look surprised because Harry smirks and waves before looking around for an empty easel and deciding on his usual spot. Nobody wants the corner easel no matter what time of day it is, so it’s still available, waiting for him. Just like Louis.

He can’t deny that something eases in his chest at the sight of Harry taking up space in his class again.

It’s Harry’s turn to look surprised when Louis calls the class to order just as he’s introducing himself to the guy at the easel next to him – Niall – and an entirely different model comes waltzing over to the settee. Louis’ well aware of just how attractive his friend Zayn is but his stomach churns at the look on Harry’s face as he takes him in for the first time.

Zayn lays himself out on the settee, the angles of his face catching the light just right to leave him looking angelic and otherworldly. Sometimes Louis hates him.

“Ok, class, you know what to do,” Louis instructs, moving out of their way so that they have an unhindered view of their model. “And, as always, try not to drool.”

Harry snorts as he picks up his charcoal and goes to work. That definitely shouldn’t make Louis feel as accomplished as it does. Plus, after his initial shock, Harry seems to have gotten over Zayn’s abundant beauty so Louis feels a lot better about that. He works his way through his students, giving a comment or a bit of advice here and there, until he’s standing at Harry’s side.

“That’s lovely, Harry,” Louis muses watching Harry’s fingers bring Zayn to life on paper. He’s already smearing the shadows that give definition to Zayn’s abs, capturing his musculature beautifully.

“Thank you, Louis” Harry says, glancing over at him with a shy grin. And god, how Louis’ heart tumbles over in his chest at that.

“Welcome back,” Louis offers, squeezing Harry’s left elbow before moving on to check on Niall and then Stacia on Niall’s other side. He feels Harry’s eyes on his back as he moves and it’s not an unpleasant feeling. Not at all.

 

*@*

 

Harry hadn’t realized there could be anything better than his Sunday classes with Louis, but the Saturday class surpasses all of his expectations.

First of all, Niall is hilarious, always cracking jokes and just generally making everyone around him feel happy.

Then there’s the model, Zayn. He’s absolutely beautiful of course, but so was Liam. What’s special about Zayn is the way he’s able to portray a certain vulnerability that makes Harry ache to capture it.

And then, there’s Louis. He’s even more playful when he’s not had to get out of bed against his will, always walking around with a sparkle in his eyes and a smirk on his lips. Harry wants him more now than he ever has. And maybe it’s his imagination, but he thinks Louis might be starting to reciprocate his feelings. God, he hopes he does, because Harry’s absolutely fucked for the man.

Harry had thought about staying away, he’d tried to distance himself, but ultimately he couldn’t keep it up, and now here he is waiting for another class to start as Louis paces across the room with a phone to his ear.

“What do you think is goin’ on?” Niall leans over to ask quietly, like it’s bound to be some scandal that can only be talked about in whispers.

Harry glances up at the clock. 6:04 p.m. “Zayn’s not coming.”

Two minutes later, Harry’s suspicions are confirmed.

“Ok, bad news, class. Our model has apparently caught the flu. I don’t suppose any of you would like to fill their place?” Louis’ voice calls out over the din of bored chit-chat, bringing everyone to silence at the news.

Seriously, Harry thinks he hears crickets it’s so quiet.

 “Well, damn, I was hoping one of you might be a secret nudist of something,” Louis sighs. “I hate to say it, but it looks like we have to cancel for tonight.”

Harry takes in the disappointed groans around him and the quiet – for the moment – ponderings about whether or not people will be given their money back for the evening and he can tell that Louis is preparing himself for having to deal with them when they get louder. Fuck, he blames Louis for this…

“I’ll do it,” Harry calls quietly, causing a pause in the arguments. “I can do it,” he says again when Louis turns those ocean blue eyes on him.

“Are you sure, Harry?” Louis checks. “You don’t have to. We can, like, tack on a class later to make up for it or something.”

“No, it’s okay,” Harry answers with a small smile quirking his lips. “Everyone’s already here. I’d hate to have wasted their time. And I _have_ always been a bit of a secret nudist, I suppose.”

“Oh,” Louis breathes out at that news, face slack in surprise, making Harry’s own smile grow. “Um, okay.”

He ushers Harry to the dressing screen and gestures for him to step behind it to undress.

“Are you positive you want to do this, Harry?” Louis checks again, catching Harry’s elbow before he can disappear behind the screen. “If you’re nervous or anything–”

“I’m actually fine,” Harry says with a laugh, as he covers Louis’ hand with his own. If anything, Louis seems to be the nervous one. And that’s actually pretty telling.

“You get, like, ten times the extra credit for this one, Curly,” Louis assures him.

“It’s okay,” Harry tells him, as Louis finally lets go of him. “I’m happy to help.”

This time, Louis lets him go and Harry quickly strips himself of his clothing.

“So, I think we all have to give a big thank you to Harry for saving our class tonight.” Harry can hear Louis telling everyone. The room breaks out into applause for him which is compounded by wolf whistles and catcalls when Harry walks out from behind the screen, not even bothering with the robe. What’s the point, really? They’re all going to see his naughty bits anyway.

Louis spins around at the change in atmosphere and sees Harry standing there, naked as the day he was born.

“ _Fuck me_ ,” he mutters quietly, eyes trailing over every inch of Harry’s full frontal nudity, pupils blown wide.

Harry smiles hard at the ground and bites his tongue to keep in the words teetering on the tip of it. _I’d love to_.

He clears his throat, looking back up at Louis expectantly.

“Right,” he utters to himself, stepping forward and reaching out like he’s going to grab Harry’s arm but pulling his hand back at the last second. “Um, just-” he gestures to the settee.  “Have a seat, or like lie down or something.”

Why is it so fucking cute how nervous Louis seems?

Harry sits down on his hip, legs straight out to the side of him, back turned to the class and peers over his shoulder to ask Louis if that’s alright. If he thinks it’s a good enough pose.

“That’s perfect,” Louis breathes, “hold that. Stay exactly as you are.”

So, Harry stays.

 

*~*

 

Louis knows Harry’s eyes are on him as he walks over and steals Harry’s easel, picking up Harry’s charcoal and gliding it over a new page. Outlining the shape of Harry’s back, the curves of his legs and arse, the delicate point to his toes. Once he has a good foundation, he goes back for the best parts. Drawing the curve of Harry’s neck, the messy knot of his hair, the coy way he peeks over his shoulder.

He almost forgets for a moment that he’s supposed to be teaching, so caught up in his drawing.

“Is this alright, Louis?” Niall asks, jarring the artist from his single-minded mission.

“Um,” Louis shakes his head to clear it, putting down the charcoal and gathering his professionalism. He peers over at Niall’s drawing. It’s clinical but well-drawn. “It’s excellent, Niall. Perhaps try to add some emotion to his face just to give it a little something extra.”

Niall hums at the advice and goes back to work, following Louis’ instruction.

“Even better,” Louis comments when he sees the changes. And then he moves on. Doing his actual job and putting his brief moment of insanity behind him.

“Time,” he calls and Harry moves into another pose that has Louis itching to go back to the easel again.

Eventually someone has to tell Louis that class should have ended five minutes ago and he dismisses everyone.

Harry unravels from his pose –curled over his knees, head rested on them with his arms wrapped around his calves– to spread himself out over the settee once everyone is gone, in no rush to cover his nudity.

“I didn’t give Liam and Zayn enough credit for how difficult that is,” Harry says, staring up at the ceiling.

“It’s exhausting, isn’t it?” Louis smiles down at him ruefully. “Perhaps I should have mentioned that.”

Harry sits up to study Louis properly. “Have you done it before? Modelling?”

“Once or twice,” Louis admits, reaching out a hand to help Harry stand.

Harry takes it, letting Louis pull him up. He’s standing entirely too close once they’re both on their feet but doesn’t move back, the room suddenly seeming warm to Louis as he finds his eyes falling to Harry’s lips.

“I saw you drawing me earlier,” Harry says quietly, watching Louis in that intense way he has. It sends a shiver down Louis’ spine and Louis only wants more.

“I had to,” Louis admits, far too honestly. “It seemed criminal not to.”

“So why did you stop?” Harry takes hold of Louis’ hands, holding them up so that he can study the smears of charcoal that still cover them.

“I had a job to do, Curly,” Louis answers, feeling a bit breathless. He should really take a step back.

But then, he doesn’t have to, because Harry’s dropping his hands and sitting back down on the settee, draping himself across its surface on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, one foot planted on the fabric with his knee bent. He looks for all the world like a man in bed, waiting for his lover to come home and find him ready and waiting.

Louis wants to follow him down, trace his hands over all of that naked flesh as he kisses those pink, pouty lips. He doesn’t. Instead, he takes a step backward, and then another, turning to make his way to the nearest easel. And there he draws, eyes drinking in everything he’s not supposed to want, fingers revealing all in each stroke of charcoal. It’s not just Harry he’s capturing on the page, it’s Louis too. It’s Louis’ every illicit thought, every reckless love-ridden glance. The way they’re undeniably, inextricably entwined.

Harry waits patiently for Louis to finish, allowing him all the time he needs.

When at last, the charcoal drops from Louis’ fingers, Harry rises slowly from his pose. Standing up, he walks over to the easel Louis still stands at and walks around it to see what Louis has done.

“That- ” Harry gasps at the sight of it. “Is that me?”

Louis slowly raises his gaze from the drawing to look at Harry, their eyes catching. “It’s us,” he answers, knowing that Harry will understand. He _has_ to.

“Louis,” Harry whispers with so much feeling as he raises a hand to Louis’ cheek.

It’s that moment, such a small, intimate act, which breaks Louis. He wraps a hand around the back of Harry’s neck and pulls him down, finally allowing himself a taste of those full, enticing lips that have been taunting him since day one.

 

*~*

 

“Holy shit,” Niall whispers to himself from the doorway as he peers into the art room. The bag that he’d come back for, utterly forgotten. He thought he’d noticed some crazy sexual tension between his teacher and their model for the day but told himself he was probably just seeing what he wanted to see. Looks like he wasn’t. 

Taking one last peek at the couple swiftly making their way to the settee in the center of the room, Niall grins wide and quietly closes the door to give them some privacy.

 

*~*

 

Harry loses his breath as his back his the settee, Louis climbing on top of him to straddle his hips.

“Harry,” He whispers desperately against Harry’s lips, before moving to kiss down the column of Harry’s throat, mouth open and wet against his skin. His hands trail over Harry’s shoulder and chest, leaving dark smudges behind from his drawing.

Harry squeezes Louis’ waist, inadvertently making Louis grind down against his growing erection. Fuck, it’s so hot having marks on his skin, proof of Louis touching him, _wanting him_.

He moves his hands to pull Louis’ lips back up to his, dragging him into another kiss. Relishing the moment because he’s not certain that he’ll get another one. Nothing has changed. He’s still Louis’ student. He’s been counting down the days until he’s not, waiting to make a move. Because there’s no way he could _not_ , just walk out Louis’ classes and pretend he’s never felt anything.

“Harry,” Louis whispers his name again, thumb flicking over his nipple and causing Harry to release a breathy moan as he bows into the touch.

“Louis, please,” Harry begs. He doesn’t know what he’s begging for. He doesn’t _care_ as long as it involves Louis touching him or kissing him or _oh –_ –

Louis’ hand trails lightly down Harry’s torso, making his abs twitch at the way it tickles. His fingers graze over Harry’s prick, and he looks up at Harry with trepidation.

“Is this alright?”

“Please,” Harry pleads again, arching his hips to meet Louis’ hand. “Please, Louis. Touch me.”

Louis’ fingers immediately wrap around him. “I’ve got you,” he promises. “I’ll take care of you, Harry.”

And Harry’s heart yearns for those words to be true. For Louis to take care of him right now, and tomorrow, and every single day after.

Louis’ mouth returns to Harry’s as he strokes Harry’s cock, slow, lingering kisses full of longing and need. Little sprinkles of confession breaking out when they part for want of breath. “I’ve wanted you for so long” and “god, you’re beautiful” and Harry’s personal favorite “I love the taste of you”.

Harry can admit to himself that it’s the word ‘love’, even in the wrong context, that has him coming over Louis’ fingers.

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Harry rolls them over so that he’s hovering over Louis.

“My turn,” he says, rucking up Louis’ shirt and tracing his tongue over Louis’ navel.

Louis moans out Harry’s name again and Harry’s one hundred percent certain that he’ll never get tired of hearing Louis say his name like that.

He trails his tongue down Louis’ happy trail, only pausing briefly at the button on Louis’ trousers until Louis reaches down and undoes it for him, tearing the zip apart in a rush to have Harry’s mouth on him again.

“ _Eager_ ,” Harry smirks, bending to kitten lick at Louis’ leaking cock.

“Fuck,” Louis hisses, trying to bury his hands in Harry’s hair but unable to because of the way he has it up in a bun. He settles for resting them on his head as Harry sucks him into his mouth. “I’ve been pining after you for _months_ , Harry. Don’t tease.”

Harry lets Louis’ dick slip from his lips but quickly replaces his mouth with his hand. “Months?” He asks, brow raised. He knew something had grown when he’d started coming to class on Saturday but he hadn’t known that anything between them had existed before that, at least, not on Louis’ side of things. He’d hoped but he thought it was just wishful thinking.

Louis’ fingers caress Harry’s cheek. “You have to have known how crazy you’ve been making me this whole time.”

“Not nearly as crazy as you’ve been making me,” Harry replies, taking Louis back into his mouth, determined to make him moan Harry’s name again. One more time, with feeling.

“ ** _Harry_**.”

Harry pulls off of Louis’ prick, swallowing and grinning at his success as he tucks Louis back into his trousers and flops down next to him. There’s hardly room for two on the settee, so he cuddles in close, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder.

They’re both quiet as they come down from the adrenaline of their first sexual encounter together and Harry can’t help but wonder…

“What happens now?” He asks, lightly moving his fingers over Louis’ stomach even as he refuses to look at him.

“I don’t know, Harry,” Louis answer, pressing his lips to the crown of Harry’s head. “What do you want to happen?”

Harry pulls away from Louis so that he can sit up, turning to look back at him as he answers, “I think you know that I want to be with you.”

“I know, love,” Louis follows him, sitting up as well so that they’re doing this on equal terms. “But I don’t want to have to sneak around to be with you. You deserve so much more than that.”

Louis’ fingers graze over Harry’s bicep as he moves to take Harry’s hand in his. “I never wanted to have to ask you this. But, if you’re willing, I think we should wait until after graduation. Seven more weeks isn’t that long.”

“No, it’s not,” Harry agrees. It’s been torture wanting Louis for this long and now that he’s gotten a taste of what it’s like to be with him, Harry is certain that it’s going to be even worse. But in all honesty, he thinks he might be willing to wait forever if he had to. For Louis.

Louis leans forward and captures Harry’s mouth once more, sucking on his tongue and pulling him back down to rest together, sharing kisses and murmured secrets. If this is going to be the last time Harry gets this for seven more weeks, he’s more than happy to let it last as long as possible.

 

*@*

 

Harry searches the crowd as soon as graduation is over. He tears off his gown and pointy hat, and stalks through a crowd of his fellow graduates looking for Louis. He’s sure the man didn’t mean that they could be together the second Harry graduated but Harry’s only fallen more in love with him over the past seven weeks and Harry’s sick of waiting.

Standing on the tips of his toes, Harry arches his neck to try and search _over_ the crowd instead of muddling through it and possibly getting lost himself.

“Looking for someone?”

Harry spins at that sound of that voice, finding Louis smirking behind him. Maybe he’s not the only one who couldn’t wait. Harry covers the span of a dozen feet in two long strides and gathers Louis into his arms.

“ _Eager_ ,” Louis laughs into his neck as he reciprocates Harry’s embrace.

“Fuck yeah, I am,” Harry admits, pulling back to take a long look at Louis. “Can I kiss you?”

“You’d better,” Louis smiles.

So Harry does. He cups Louis cheek and finally, finally presses his lips to his boyfriend’s.

Boyfriends. That’s what they are now. Harry can hardly believe it. It all feels a bit like a dream to him that after all this time, he’s finally here.

But it’s not a dream.

The proof is in the way Louis’ tongue curls against his as they kiss. The way Louis takes him home and sketches the lines of his body so that they have a memento of this day that they always plan to remember. And then, it’s in the way Louis once again leaves smears against his skin next to the purple bruises he sucks with his mouth. The way he calls Harry his greatest work of art and holds him until Harry knows that he’ll never let go again.  

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Comments and kudos are ace.
> 
> Also, thank you so much to my good friend and beta, Michelle. You're the absolute greatest at keeping me going and making me love what I am doing when I need it most.


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